Purpose, from a red stool.

We saw the new movie "Martian" yesterday. It was a mid-week, middle of the day, kids at daycare afternoon date. I expected very little, but have to say I was genuinely inspired. The human spirit is capable of so much. 

I came home and sat down at my desk, mulling over some of the thoughts I've been having this week. The main one that has been plaguing me is this: Who cares?

Sometimes there is a futility about everything in my work. I cleared part of my schedule this year so that I could do what I missed the most last year - practicing. And now that I have three afternoons of the week cleared for it, I often just don't want to do it. I still have a hard time enjoying the creative process that comes with being a performing artist, and haven't felt the desire to identify with it much lately. Without a deadline or a performance, I don't really delight in just doodling around on the guitar or playing for fun. It is work to me, and work is hard. 

I thought about this while I was eating an early dinner before four straight hours of teaching. The guy behind the counter recognized me as I ordered my gyro platter, smiled, and said, "Enjoy it" as he handed me my food. But then I saw him take out his smartphone and space out with a vacant expression, and I couldn't help thinking that he was probably feeling the same thing I was. Who cares? Why does what I do matter?

I stumbled upon a Ted talk by Elizabeth Gilbert that has given me a little perspective. A few years ago, I put out an album that was met with great success in my tiny corner of the world. I got gigs from it, did interviews, sold CDs, and essentially put myself out there as a classical guitarist. I have struggled to find my next project since then and struggled even more to feel like I'll ever have anything original to say ever again. I guess this was like my own version of Eat, Pray, Love. And Liz (we're on a first-name basis now) says that you just have to keep doing it, doing that thing you love "more than yourself" (I don't know if this is true for me, but I can understand what she means), regardless of whether it means you will succeed or fail. Because I am wired in a very goal-oriented, accomplish one task at a time sort of way, the nebulousness of the creative life feels antithetical to my very existence. 

But after Paul gave me a pep talk the other day, I believe I can change. I believe that if I commit to sitting down on my red stool for two hours a day and practicing, practicing anything really, not only will I prepared for the concerts I have this season, but I will be in a different place artistically and spiritually than I was before I committed to doing this. If I can stop asking the question, What is this for? and start asking the question, Who is this for? - then I believe I will get somewhere. 

And it does not matter where. In the end, I believe will always be called back to sitting on my red stool.

Purpose, from a La-Z Boy Chair.

It started with a discussion on calling. I don't know what this means anymore; I've analyzed and reanalyzed it in my head so many times that I have completely confused myself. But on that day, June 29, that I returned from the annual guitar nerd convention that usually marks my year, half hungover and completely sleep deprived (we had a 7am flight, and my boss insisted that we stay up all night with 12 bottles of wine instead of sleeping), I laid down in my bed on a Monday morning for a well-deserved four hour nap and was awoken by the strangest news.

"Baltimore."

Huh? It took me almost an hour to come out of my grogginess, not feeling refreshed from my half night's sleep at all. That was not my favorite place. I love cities, but never really got attached to that one. No desire to move anywhere, thanks. Especially not East. Been there, done that. I hate snow.

And so the news broke that Paul's company wanted us to move to Baltimore. This job "offer," ultimately rejected, sent us on a now two-month journey into rediscovering purpose in our lives, and sent us into many late-night conversations about why we live where we live, what we want life to be like, our greatest ambitions for our careers, our deepest dreams for our daughters. It's a conversation that we haven't had in a long time. Something was moving us to discuss this thing called life that has been blowing by us with such great rapidity as we go through the mundane week after week, feeling little respite and rejuvenation. 

But it's not rest that we're seeking. 

When we moved to LA 7 years ago, I was ready to plant down roots. We had moved three times in the span of two years; I was sick of it. I wanted to settle into the City of Angels, sprawling though it was, and take it by storm. And so I did. We lived here. We love it. We had babies. We bought a house.

I guess once in awhile God does something to shake life up a bit. I am not sure why. I would be perfectly content going about life, playing this game of trying to get my kids to bed as early as possible, surviving until the next weekend that comes up. But that is no way to live life, is it? I realized that we had settled into child-rearing like it was a La-Z Boy Chair. Just trying to be as comfortable as possible in something that could potentially be really ugly. (Case in point. I realized a year ago when we were furniture shopping that I really love recliner chairs. We always had one in my house growing up. Paul thinks I'm weird.) Bad analogy. Children are beautiful, yadda yadda, I love mine to pieces and would give all my organs for them if they ever learned to ask politely...but it's really hard. The rearing part, I mean.

I digress. Basically, I haven't thought about my life in awhile. The more we talked about it, the more we realized this. Why haven't we thought about life in awhile? 

The more questions we asked, the more questions came. In short, I found myself on a hot July day at the Glendale Galleria (a big mall) trying to return something, as I have a habit of doing. I was driving up and down the aisles of the huge parking structure looking for a spot, trying to decide whether to park in front of Target or Macys. Hmm, decisions. Suddenly, it happened. The song "Oceans" came on in my Spotify playlist, and something hit me like a ton of bricks. As the music swelled into the repetitive middle section and the ambient keyboard got drowned out by the crooning vocals, these lyrics echoed through me:

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior

Me: (in my head) Oh, no, no, no. I'm not letting go of this place I call home, this comfortable, sunny life, this routine I have. I have a good thing going here. 

This went on for a few minutes. I started crying. And then I felt this:

God: Follow me. Let this place go. Let LA go. 

I will call upon Your name

Keep my eyes above the waves

My soul will rest in Your embrace

I am Yours and You are mine

At this point, there is something being wrenched from my heart. It's painful. I think it's some kind of idol. My clenching onto of all that has become familiar and easy. And then I felt broken. I was weeping. I was still looking for parking. It felt symbolic somehow. I was, at that point, bawling, and I couldn't see very well. It all felt so futile. I finally found a spot very far from the Macy's entrance, and took a few minutes to collect myself.

God chooses the strangest places to intervene. 

So here we are. We are following, we are listening, we are waiting. Things are not clear yet. But one thing is clear to me. I am called to live my life with more purpose than I am doing now. 

To be continued.

-----

PS. E asked me a funny question tonight.

E: When I was a baby and I was in your tummy, who did I play with?

Me: Well, you were alone in there. So I don't think you played with anyone.

E: Well, what did I eat? And drink?

Me: Um, fluid. Kind of like water. Maybe you played with me sometimes. I could feel you kicking. And hiccuping.

E: What did it sound like?

Me: (makes cute hiccuping noises)

E: Well, maybe I was doing a joke! 

Me: Maybe.

Birthday Letter - Cara Turns 2!

Dear Cara,
On your 2nd birthday, your Dad and I picked you up from school early and you were wearing this cute crown that the teachers had made for you. There was a giant piece of butcher paper up on the wall that said "Happy Birthday Cara!" with green and black toddler fingerpainting all over it. You were happy and alert, and we whisked you and your sister off for a fun Friday afternoon of riding the Griffith Park train and then hanging out at Home Restaurant on the big patio. Mommy had a honeyed mojito while you and Jea Jea ate your chicken fingers and grilled cheese heartily, and then ran around to look at the fish in the Koi pond.

I looked at you while you were running around with your sister and just couldn't believe how big you've gotten. Sometimes I just have no idea where the time has gone, how you've grown before my eyes and I seem to not have remembered anything. Then I look back at some of our old photos and I remember everything perfectly. You still feel the same as you did when you were an infant - kind of round, heavier than expected, with a big smile unless you are hungry or tired, a sweet and playful spirit. You loved to cuddle then just as you do now, and when you were angry as a baby, that high pitched scream caused strangers to turn around and mutter, "Whoa, she's got lungs!" in shock that your curly-haired good naturedness could produce a soprano cry. This exact thing happened just this past weekend and I couldn't help but think back to the first day in the hospital when the doctor was examining you and were wailing like a banshee. She said under her breath, "They are gonna have fun with you!"


As a two-year old, you love to explore everything now. You love pictures and figures of animals but freak out at real ones. (Poor Aiko.) Your favorite song is the "We are the Dinosaurs" by Laurie Berkner because you saw the preschoolers dance to it at their graduation. You do all the motions perfectly and it is the cutest thing in the world. You are active and love to jump, dance, run, and hate being strapped in the car for very long. You can repeat nearly every word you hear, and are putting together some good sentences now - like last week, when you said, "Daddy, hole in sock." Sure enough, there was one!

In new places, you insist on being carried, all 29 pounds of you. You didn't cry at all when you got your last vaccine and the hemoglobin test. Your iron levels were low at 18 months, but they are now healthy and fine, and I don't doubt this with the amount of kalbi you can eat! Your skin is clearer than it has ever been, and though we have your eczema under control, I see how sensitive your body is to certain things and still constantly monitor you for redness. You are endlessly polite in your conversation, saying things like, "all done, please" or "up, please" and "thank you, mommy" but you can be provocative and violent. You've bitten many children in the toddler room at school (well, usually just the same one) and there is often a fierce look in your eye when someone tries to take something you want, or even worse, your food. They say second kids are fighters, and you are a fighter no doubt!

And though you are a bit rambunctious right now, you are also so sweet and sleepy. Like the other day when we got back from our trip to Ama's house and you slept until 10am the next day. I was completely confused, and when I went to get you I swear you had grown another three inches. Your eyes were clear and alert and beautiful, your hair straighter and only wavy at the bottom. You looked so big. And yet you were content to sit in my lap for so long that morning, and I felt nothing but thankfulness that I get to be your mommy. Tonight when you looked at a scratch on my leg, you said, "Mommy owie. Kiss it" and made a puckering sound. What a sweet delight you are, my little dumpling. You're a little dream.

Here's to a terrific year of TWO.

Love,
Mommy

Why I Hate Princesses

Tonight, E asked me a strange question.

"When I was still in heaven and God was making me, did I get to choose what color hair I have?"

I frowned. "No, I think God chose for you. Why?"

"Because I wish I could choose yellow hair."

What?!

This awakened both the dormant Asian American rights activist and the (less dormant) feminist inside of me. How is it that my four-year old daughter already wishes she was a blonde? What in the world have I been doing wrong?

And then I look around us. Tonight, while C was having a crazy tantrum because I took a peach skin out of her mouth that she was chewing like tobacco, E was quietly coloring in the other room. She's learning to color in the lines now. She's learning to choose what colors go with certain things. I praised her for being so patient while I was tending to C's tantrum. I've been single mommying this week while hubby is in Baltimore, so the evenings are kinda hit or miss. Usually one child is good while the other is horrific. Like tonight when I was doing C's bath and she was screaming, not wanting to let go of her stuffed sheep, and E started playing Twinkle on the piano by herself (?!).

Anyway, I digress. What was my dear eldest daughter coloring? A bunch of princesses. What color hair did they all have? Yellow. Yes, Disney has attempted to diversify a little bit. But Tiana and Jasmine are not on the first page of this coloring book, they're on some page in the back. Not to mention that Jasmine's biggest plight in life is that oh, boo hoo, she and her mid-drift baring outfit can't decide who to marry. Woe is me. Yes, I was reminded of this when reading a Disney princess book that she'd found at the school lending library. The lack of empowerment in these princesses' lives, especially the old-school ones, is just incredible.

I have never bought anything with a Disney princess on it, but they have snuck into our household. A friend gave her this princess coloring book for her birthday. Another friend at school gave her these popular little figurines called click dolls that they have of all the princesses. For Christmas, various relatives gifted us with all kinds of Frozen paraphernalia. Some friends from church are having a birthday party this weekend, and guess what it is themed? Princesses. There will be live princesses at this party (real people dressed up as princesses that sing all the songs. Heard of it? Good way to make a buck on the weekends.)

Before I know it, she knows all the names of all the princesses, the stories, the struggles (having long hair is really tough for Rapunzel, and Snow White has met a bunch of strange little men that she cooks and cleans for) and now we are fully steeped in princess culture. What does she want to be for Halloween next year? Elsa. How original! The Frozen princesses are the least offensive of all - but I am just plain sick of them. They are absolutely everywhere and it is a bit nauseating.

I went online to see what was going on with Mulan. She's clearly not on the first tier of princesses that are being paraded around by Disney. It's a good story, but once I was reminded of the art style in the Mulan movie, I was disappointed once again. All the characters have slanty eyes that remind me of early caricatures of Chinese workers with the big straw hats on. There's a pet dragon involved.

I watched a lot of Sleeping Beauty growing up, but it never made me wish that I was a brown-haired flower maiden who sang to the birds. There's something different about the culture that my girls are growing up in now. There's an intensity about it that didn't exist in the early 80's - an intensity that makes me fear for my daughters when they are teenagers, worrying about their weight, hair, clothes, and other superficialities. I am incredibly conscious about the types of dolls that my girls have. The first doll ever gifted to us (by my dear cousin) was a Corelle Asian doll that is probably the only one on the market that I actually really like. It doesn't have squinty eyes and it smells like vanilla and it's not wearing anything "ethnic." Even in my daughter's preschool room where the dolls are supposed to be multi-ethnic according to state standards, the Asian one is wearing a qipao and has slanted eyes. The Latino one is wearing a sombrero. I think our culture should be beyond this kind of "It's a Small World" multi-ethnicity. Haven't we progressed into understanding other cultures as more than just sterotypes? Can't we see people of color as real people that wear t-shirts and jeans rather than costumes?

Last Christmas, I wanted to give my girls some special dolls, so I had them made from a local artist to sort of look like them. I know that sounds a little crazy, but I honestly just was appalled by the limited choices on the market and thought it would be better to spend a little money supporting a local artist. I just don't like the thought of buying a doll that does not remotely look like us at all. I'm glad to say that they were a big hit, but they were not fun after awhile because the other kids at school didn't know who they were. It was just a doll, and not a familiar princess plastered on every candy bar, cereal, or juice box sold in the local supermarket.

I am sure there are tons and tons of girls out there who have been infatuated by princesses from a young age who turned out to be capable, bright, successful women. But I for one fear for my insecure, self-conscious, shy little girl. When I look at her, I see such beauty and promise and to think that she wishes that she looked different or is different just breaks my heart. I am committed to continually telling her that she is beautiful just the way she is and want her grow up to (and I summarize a quote I saw on FB the other day) shatter glass ceilings rather than just desire glass slippers. And I am glad that my little one still loves her stuffed sheep and teddy bear more than anything right now.

Birthday Letter

Dear Elisa,
You turned four this past week. We celebrated your actual birthday with a lovely, low-key day - breakfast with Uncle Joonmo and Auntie Minnie at Millie's (per your request), a walk through the Silverlake Farmer's Market where we used to spend many a Saturday morning, and a playdate with your best friend from preschool. You lit up when you were with her. You're growing up so quickly - you have friendships that mean the world to you now, and such real, living emotions that can be so intense sometimes.

We had a birthday party for you today, a joint party with your sister. We had a tough moment in there - you were fixated on getting to a certain gift that your friend told you about. I was upset that you couldn't play with your guests like a proper host. You wouldn't bend to my control. To the best of my ability, I couldn't talk you out of your emotions, and I was frustrated. I was a bit harsh on you. When I later thought about it, it felt unfair because the gift was something particular from your friend at school and it meant something more to you than the item itself. Having it meant belonging, fitting in, and having commonality with them. I just couldn't understand that at the time and ordered you to put on your happy face and get on with the party.

I later apologized to you, because I think that's what parents should do when we lose patience, or act in a certain way that the situation didn't deserve. We are only human after all, and we're in this whole thing together. I said, "I'm sorry I got upset earlier." You said, "When did you get upset?" I smiled to myself, feeling thankful for how quickly you forgot my anger. I said, "When you were upset at the party. Remember?" You nodded. "Are you sorry that you were upset?" I asked. You nodded again, and we hugged.

I hope our reconciliation will always be this simple. I hope that as you go through this age of another strong season of emotional development, that I will never attempt to stifle your emotions or force you to be happy when that's not what you are feeling. I hope that you will help me to understand that your world is intense at times, so raw that you cannot see things any other way. I am the same way. For all your stubbornness, I love you so dearly. You are my strong-willed, determined little girl. I respect you for it, and I hope that I will raise you in a way that empathizes with your emotions, and embraces them no matter how inconvenient they are. I also hope that you will grow up knowing that you are your own person, and be confident in who God made you to be. I hope that in this materialistic culture of ours that you will not always feel like we only belong if we have what others have. Let's remember that we have to strip all those things away from our hearts to really know who we are and who God made us to be. I hope you will continue to discover that this year.

My favorite moments are watching you play well with your sister. Today I overheard the two of you having a conversation in the tepee, while Daddy was vacuuming. You guys were hiding in there with a bunch of blankets and pillows. You were saying, "This is our car. I'll drive, ok?" and Cara obediently said, "Ok." It was so adorable. Cara fits the role of younger sister well, looking up to you and copying your every move. I hope you will understand the importance of your role in her life. You two are quite the pair and you exhaust me while also filling me with such a deep joy knowing you have each other. I love you so much. Happy birthday, my dear chocolate cake.

Love,
Mommy

Phuket 2015

Around January, we found out that one of our friends from college was getting married in Phuket, Thailand. Paul was asked to be a groomsman, which he delightfully accepted. I agonized for months whether I would go too, knowing that it would be too long a trek to take the kids with us, but feeling anxious about leaving them.

Finally when he said something like, "I think this would be good for our marriage," I faithfully accepted. What a sacrifice, going on a six-day trip to one of Asia's most beautiful beach cities! But if it was good for our family, then I would suck it up and oblige. Mom and Dad graciously agreed to watch the girls for the week.

Before leaving I was a neurotic mess buying extra diapers, wipes, lotions, medications, and snacks for the kids as if the world was going to end and typing up a three page memo for my parents on taking care of the girls. But everything went off without a hitch, my mom sending me photos three times a day to prove that they were indeed happy, healthy, and excited to receive presents from Ama every morning.

Here we are in the beautiful international terminal of LAX, which is way better than any other terminal. There was even a La Mill coffee shop, straight out of Silver Lake!

First day - battling jet lag by lounging by the infinity pool right outside our Ocean Loft room. 

Exploring the white sands of the beach. 

And then going back to our room to enjoy the AC. It was stinking hot. Humid like I had never felt it before. After awhile, we realized that going outside was not really worth it unless we were in the water. So suffice it to say, we spent a lot of time in our beautiful room!

The next morning after some broken but sufficient sleep, we ambled down to the hotel restaurant to check out the complimentary breakfast. It was incredible each day, starting with a three-tiered cheese and fruit platter, two entrees with choices of Asian or Western dishes, and unlimited coffee and fresh-squeezed juices. The guava juice was our favorite, but even the apple juice was amazing.

We decided to enjoy the award-winning spa on the premises. I got a facial and a massage, and Paul got a 90-minute massage. Both were amazing, except that I got bit by mosquitos during my massage! I know, tough life.

Then we walked around the beautiful grounds of the resort.

By the afternoon, we were itching to see what was on the outside. It was my first time in Thailand, and I was determined to find a night market with amazing food.

And so we did, hiring a taxi for the afternoon and stopping first at the Big Buddha.

He was indeed a very big Buddha. 

There were also sweeping views of Phuket Bay.

 We asked our taxi driver to take us to the best night market that he knew of. It was fantastic, but also very far from the resort. It turned out that everything seemed to be quite far from the resort, so we figured this would be our only jaunt out during our short trip.

Our exploration at the night market consisted of several skewers of meat, an awesome grilled rice ball, a spicy tom yum soup that had me nearly crying from its heat and deliciousness, some grilled corn, a deep-fried fish, pad thai, and a couple beers that cost less than $1. Total meal cost? About $12 for the two of us.

Back at the hotel, Paul even managed to get a work conference call in (London time) while I fell fast asleep.

The next day, more incredible breakfast platters abounded.

And we laughed as Paul tried on the Thai pajamas we found in our room!

I don't think we did much that day, besides hang out at the pool and chat with some of the wedding guests that were slowly arriving. That evening was Celeste and Oscar's Welcome Dinner, which we noticed the hotel staff setting up on the beach the day before. 

It was nothing short of remarkable, and featured the best Thai food I have EVER had in my life! And actually, I'm proud to say that some of the Thai food we get here in LA was pretty competitive. There were platters and platters of larb salad, papaya salad, stir-fried vegetable and seafood dishes, tom yum soup, several curries, etc. My stomach could not keep up.

Eating on the beach among friends, we witnessed one of the most incredible sunsets I have ever seen. 

After the dinner, a lady appeared on the beach and treated us to a show in which she juggled, hula-hooped, and danced with rings and sticks of fire, all with a techno beat in the background. It was pretty crazy.

The next day was Saturday, the day of the wedding! It started off with the same remarkable breakfast platter.

Then some swimming in our infinity pool.

And then we ate again. This time, we started with cocktails and a real Thai iced tea, which was not as good as the blue cocktails.

The hotel restaurant was doing a four-course tasting menu. We said yes to everything, and could not believe how much food it was. It was incredibly inventive, delicate, and balanced, mostly a fusion of Western dishes with a Thai twist. My favorite were the watermelon gazpacho and the tom yum flavored pork rinds.

And then off to the wedding! All the groomsmen were in gray vests with pink ties. Luckily, no jackets since it was so hot. I was dripping sweat even in my sleeveless dress and my makeup melted rapidly off my face.

I could not believe this wedding venue - I thought our hotel was amazing, but this place had a grassy knoll overlooking the water. And maybe this is Asia being more technologically advanced than we are, but their photographer had a drone taking pictures from over the water! 

I've never taken so many photos at someone else's wedding. And yet, I didn't have my camera with me when the fireworks show was going off after dark, or when we all lit lanterns on the beach and watched them float away into the night sky. It was absolutely magical.

The next day was a rude awakening. Our last day. I had to get a coconut to help with the mild hangover.

We had a leisurely lunch, soaking in our last morning at the resort.

And then we checked out and off to the airport we went. We flew through Hong Kong, with many other guests from the wedding on our flight who were heading home. This time, we made a point to get some food in the airport before checking email on the free wi-fi. Nothing like some ramen and frozen beer to help you pass out before a 14 hour flight!

And then, after a big nap and three movies, we made it home. I had a rough night's sleep, my body confused and mind revved up, but was greeted in the morning by two little girls who were ecstatic to see us. (They don't look it here, but they were. Here they are focused on their favorite pastime, eating.)

Home sweet home.

Easter 2015

I have to say that this was certainly a memorable Easter. It will be known as "The Easter That We Made a Ham" or maybe "The Easter That Cara Puked Everywhere" - either one, I'm not sure which is more catchy.

We started bright and early at 8am getting out the door to go to our favorite breakfast spot in Silverlake for old time's sake. Millie's! I was frustrated because C wouldn't eat her antihistamine laced applesauce. She wasn't eating anything. Very strange. She had about two bites of applesauce and a little cereal and then kept fussing.

We got to Millie's and she rejected the pancakes set before her, instead only sitting down to gobble down a bunch of goldfish crackers that I had in my bag.

E, on the other hand, gobbled down scrambled eggs, pancakes, bacon, and a biscuit like she hadn't eaten in ages.

We decided to head down to the area where service was being held a little early and walk around the USC campus to show them "Mommy's old school" since we had more than an hour to kill. A few minutes later, I heard C suddenly start crying and turned around to see her mouth and car seat covered in....vomit. Oh, so that's why she wasn't eating very much. E had also been complaining that her stomach hurt, but she's not much of a barfer. We had just installed her new car seat (a brand new red Diono Radian) the night before too! 

We made a stop at a gas station to clean her and the seat up, which took a really long time. I walked around with C while E sat in the car listening to music, watching her Daddy scrub the car seat down with wet wipes with a disgusted look on his face. Finally, we were ready to roll, but right when we got everyone back in the car, E started complaining that her stomach hurt and that she needed to use the potty. Oh God - really?!

So we made another stop since the gas station bathroom was unavailable and probably disgusting. Ended up pulling into the neighborhood Von's and replenishing on snacks too. It turned out to be a false alarm. I wasn't sure if we should still go, but C was acting much happier. So we went along on our merry way, and actually still made it to service early! They had coloring pages for the kids, although that didn't last long.

I honestly didn't catch very much of service having both kids in there since they didn't have the usual childcare options. When we got home, we were quite spent, and everyone had some quiet time. I took a nap with the covers over my head, trying to detox from the barf situation, and did lots of laundry. I mean, I'm a barfer too, but this whole thing was pretty gross - I won't get into great detail, but let's just say that it will be a long time before I can eat cheddar goldfish crackers again. 

Then, I took E with me to TJ's to do some grocery shopping. They were sampling a ham. It was pretty tasty, so I bought it. E loves ham. In fact, the only meat she eats is ham and bacon. And kalbi. It was already cooked and came with a glaze, so I can't say that I actually did much work in making it. But I was just curious - I've never really had an Easter ham. This is what white Americans eat for Easter dinner, right? I had a total Fresh Off the Boat moment. Paired it with some mashed potatoes and kale sprouts, and voila. Simple Easter dinner that can now be an adopted tradition. 

Food coma ensued. All in all, a memorable day. And C is perfectly fine now, bouncing around with a big smile on her face after a 3 hour nap this afternoon. Happy Easter.